


HR Complaints

by IDoNotBiteMyThumbAtYou



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-12
Updated: 2018-10-12
Packaged: 2019-08-01 05:01:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16278290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IDoNotBiteMyThumbAtYou/pseuds/IDoNotBiteMyThumbAtYou
Summary: Manny Flores has been with the PPDC for nearly a decade by the time he’s transferred to Hong Kong. He just wants to do his job. And he’s good at it. But when he receives the 15th complaint from one Dr. Hermann Gottlieb in only three days, he finds his patience running thin.He wonders which of the two scientists would be more of a nightmare to cohabitate a working space with: Dr. Gottlieb - sender of endless petty complaints, or Dr. Geiszler, their hapless subject.From a geniusbee tweet requesting “...a fic from the POV of the shatterdome HR rep who knows hermann's in love with newt before hermann does based on the complaints he files” (I am not the first to fill this prompt)





	HR Complaints

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Geniusbee](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Geniusbee).



HR at the Hong Kong Shatterdome wasn’t a boring job by its own merits.  However, when Manny considered that his stuffy windowless office was in the same building as giant robots, drift compatibility testing sites, and samples of enormous alien life-forms his job became infuriatingly dull by association.

It was incomprehensible that a building housing some of the most incredible inventions of the modern age and most mind blowing scientific achievements in the history of humanity still had to deal with the same sorts of bullshit inquiries as any other office: “Who’s _actually_ in charge of on-site resource allocation? Because I’m pretty sure it’s me. However...” “Can someone please tell Chuck Hansen not to put his feet on the tables? We all have to eat there and...” “Tendo Choi should really know where room 3F is by now and _he doesn’t.”_ It nearly drove Manny to distraction. But he bore it with patience and didn’t think too hard about how he never got to see the cool robots.

Manny had been with the PPDC for nearly a decade by the time he was transferred to Hong Kong. His home-town in Mexico was right on the water, so he had felt duty-bound to protect the place he loved when monsters started rising from the deep, and the moment the PPDC had set up in LA, he’d volunteered his services in the way best suited to his skills: administration, and he’d been quietly climbing the ranks ever since.

He was good at HR.  But he suspected that the reason he had lasted so long, and had been chosen over the other half a dozen HR heads across the PPDC had less to do with his skill, and proclivity for languages, and more to do with his incredible patience, and ability to stand up to even the most blow-hard soldiers and finicky scientists.

Which is what he told himself like a mantra over deep steadying breaths when he received the 15th complaint from one Dr. Hermann Gottlieb on only his third day in Hong Kong. He was floored by the frequency and venom of the complaints, and couldn’t tell which of the two scientists would be more of a nightmare to cohabitate a working space with: Dr. Gottlieb - sender of endless petty complaints, or Dr. Geiszler, their hapless subject.

Eventually, he came to enjoy Gottlieb’s missives. The eloquently written complaints were nearly Shakespearean in their creative insults, and painted a picture of a truly fascinating lab. Though he was only getting one side of the story, it was every bit as riveting (and unintentionally hilarious) as a telenovela.

> “Dr. Geiszler frequently plays loud music and dances around the lab like a glitching animatronic child’s toy. It’s very distracting and physics requires absolutely pristine conditions.” - H. Gottlieb
> 
> “Dr. Geiszler insists on bringing his lunch into the lab and eating it on my side of the line to ‘avoid sample contamination.’ I am then forced to endure an hour of distracting drivel and petty, meaningless debate.” - H. Gottlieb
> 
> “Dr. Geiszler is moving too quickly through lab safety practices. His gloves are not up to standard, and it is taking precious time from my already packed schedule to regularly check that he hasn’t incinerated his hand to the bone by touching a caustic chemical with a too-thin glove.”  - H. Gottlieb

For Manny’s part, he kinda liked Geiszler when he finally encountered him around the ‘dome. He always had something pithy and wry to say at personnel meetings, and the guy had a cool vibe and good style. Besides, it was always nice to find a someone shorter than him in a building otherwise full of military haircuts.

> _“I will send Dr. Geiszler a notice to please refrain from playing loud music. If the problem persists, rest assured that disciplinary action will be taken._ ” - M. Flores
> 
> “Dr. Geiszler has opted to wear headphones - so disciplinary action is not necessary. However his dancing has become all the more provocative - which is to say that he seems to be dancing with more aggressive abandon than before  - no doubt as a means to irritate me.” - H. Gottlieb
> 
> _“Would you like me to send a notice prohibiting dancing in the lab?”_ \- M. Flores.
> 
> “Don’t be ridiculous.”  - H. Gottlieb

Gottlieb, on the other hand… Manny couldn’t understand what was up with this guy - for all the constant complaints, he never wanted him to _do_ anything about it. It was almost like he only wrote the complaints to have someone to commiserate with.

> “Dr. Geiszler refuses to wear a labcoat, which is unprofessional. He also continues to wear insufficient protective gear. The sort of rubber gloves he wears wouldn’t even protect their wearer were they scrubbing a toilet.”  - H. Gottlieb
> 
> _“I’ll send someone in to check lab safety.”_ \- M. Flores
> 
> “No no. That won’t be necessary. No need to waste resources. I just wanted to make an official note of my displeasure so that if something terrible happens to him, everyone knows I warned him.”  - H. Gottlieb
> 
> _“No seriously. If you think there’s a safety violation going on, I really have to send someone to take a look.”_ \- M. Flores
> 
> “No really. It’s quite alright. This can be handled in lab. I will make him wear a labcoat and better gloves”  - H. Gottlieb

Sensing that he was perhaps ruining the fun (and trusting that Gottlieb knew what he was about), Manny let it be.

He didn’t want to be weird about it. He was the HR guy after all, but he did keep an eye out for the two of them. Just to try to discern what was really up. They did _seem_ to hate each other, so it was odd that they kept close to each other to the exclusion of nearly everyone else. He saw them in the cafeteria at odd hours arguing with the sort of aggression normally reserved for life or death situations. This much at least seemed fair given their line of work and the heavy stakes attached to their success. However, when he passed by them, he found that they were invariably arguing about something absurd and impossible to quantify, like the relative merits of smooth versus chunky peanut butter, or whether whales or dolphins would make better party guests. 

> “Dr. Geiszler is now wearing a labcoat, but has chosen one in pink with lace on the pockets.” - H. Gottlieb
> 
> _“Dr. Gottlieb, there are no rules against pink labcoats.”_ M. Flores.
> 
> “I know.” - H. Gottlieb 

All this painted a strange and internally contradictory picture of Dr. Geiszler. Going purely off Gottlieb’s complaints, the man was either a belligerent mess of a human being with absolutely no regard for his fellow man, or a person so damnably alluring that even an ice-cold physicist wouldn’t help but be distracted by his otherwise only mildly irritating antics.

There could be no in between.

After another few weeks of complaints (“Dr. Geiszler asked me if I have any tattoos.” “Dr. Geiszler made an offensive tweet alluding to my personal style. I have attached a link.” “Dr. Geiszler has named his invention ‘the milking machine.’”) And continued insistence that no disciplinary action be taken,  Manny was starting to suspect that the latter was closer to the truth: these were the missives of someone deeply, inconveniently in love. Christ, Manny was half in love with the guy himself at this point.

But as fascinating as the push and pull between these two had become, Manny had a job to do. And that job meant keeping everyone happy enough to do their work and end the damn war. And if Dr. Gottlieb was taking as much time out of his own day as he was taking out of Manny’s that was a problem that needed solving.

And so one morning, it was with some small reluctance that he wrote the following email:

> _“Dr. Gottlieb, You seem to be struggling in your current lab setup. Your success and comfort is very important to the PPDC and is tied to the overall success of the war efforts, and it seems that the current arrangement is not conducive to that goal, indeed, it seems very distressing for you. Would you like me to put in a request for a seperate lab for you?_ ” - M. Flores.

The reply came almost immediately.

> “No thank you Mr. Flores. That won’t be necessary. May I ask, are you the head of HR?” - H. Gottlieb.
> 
> _“Yes, I am the head of HR.”_ \- M. Flores.
> 
> “Very well.” - H. Gottlieb 

“Very well?” What on earth did he mean by that? He didn’t have long to wonder, because only an hour later, none other than Marshall Pentecost himself ducked into the room. Even in the unflattering fluorescent overhead light - which seemed to simultaneously dull the effect of the imposing, and make innocuous objects uncannily threatening, Pentecost was a striking figure. Manny stood up so fast the wheels on his ergonomic chair couldn’t keep up, and the chair keeled over. He succeeded in averting a full on crash, but failed to pick up the pieces of his dignity as he gave a hasty salute.

Pentecost waited for him to settle himself. “There’s been a complaint, Flores”

Manny’s jaw dropped. He had never even met the Marshall before, and here he was on an _HR_ complaint. For a moment Manny racked his memory for something he might have done wrong. He felt guilty despite his second-nature scrupulous adherence to propriety.

“May I ask who…” Whomever it was, the _Marshall_ was not the person they should have written to. Manny felt his face get hot again.

“I’d like to see your email correspondences with Dr. Gottlieb please.”

Ay Dios. Manny’s guilt instantly morphed into irritation.

“Sir. I’m. I’m so sorry.” he sputtered, “I should have told - I should have made it clearer to him who to go to about me should the necessity arise, it just didn’t even _begin_ to occur to me that - I’ve never even _met_ him we’ve only corresponded via email and I have _never_ said or even implied anything inap-”

“Just let me see the emails.”

“Sir.” Manny pulled up all the correspondences between himself and Dr. Gottlieb (There were quite a few) and stood back as the Marshall perused the emails, he expression unreadable. When he finished, he closed the tab, took a deep breath, and turned to look Manny in the eye. Manny was instantly terrified of disappointing this man in a way he hadn’t felt since he’d moved out of his father’s house.

“Gottlieb wrote to me saying that you’d ‘overstepped your bounds’ and had ‘offered to meddle in his personal affairs.’”

Utterly flabbergasted, Manny opened his mouth to defend himself but was stopped by a gesture from the Marshall.

“He then sent me another email, not 10 minutes later requesting that I ignore his previous complaint, and stating that it was written rashly and that your behavior has been ‘not only above board, but exemplary.’ His words. Naturally I had to investigate.”

“P - Personally?”

“I just had to see it.” The Marshall said flatly. And to his surprise, Manny could see that behind the nearly impenetrable wall of dignity that comes with Great Purpose and Great Authority, Stacker Pentecost was amused “Not to worry, this will not go on your record.”

“Thank you sir.”

Pentecost stood to leave and straightened his jacket. “You’ve been with the PPDC a long time, haven’t you, Flores?” He asked.

“I have, sir.”

“It’s not like the old days anymore.”

“It’s not sir.”

“We all make do how we can.”

“Sir.”

And with that, Pentecost nodded brusquely and whipped out of the stuffy windowless room. Leaving Manny to wonder if the surreal conversation had happened at all.

That day at lunch, some of his confusion was put to rest when a long-standing acquaintance from the mailroom told him in conspiratorial tones: “Oh damn, the _scientists?_ Shit man you didn’t know? They hate each other ‘cause they used to date. No one really knows, but something bad happened and now they’re stuck together. You gotta just avoid them. _Everyone_ knows that.”

It served Manny right for always turning a deaf ear to gossip. This information would have been very useful his first week. That said, Manny didn’t think his friend had her facts right. The scientists _clearly_ didn’t hate each other, there was something else going on with them. But he didn’t say as much because the knowledge made use of private information gleaned from formal complaints and that was against the rules.

So he went back to work that afternoon feeling more exhausted than usual, and hoping that the back half of his day would be less eventful than the front half had been. However that hope was quickly dashed when he found a scientist waiting for him in his office.

Why oh why had his little windowless basement office turned into a thoroughfare?

He’d never met the man in person, but he felt like he had, given the extensive and detailed emails.

He spoke before Manny had the chance to reluctantly welcome him. “An email didn’t seem to cover it,” he said, “so I thought I’d come down in person.”

“Hello…. Dr. Geiszler. Please, take a seat.”

Dr. Geiszler did so, but his energy seemed unabated, like a yappy dog momentarily silent and seated, but ready to spring up to run after the first thing that catches its eye. He barreled into an apology barely stopping to catch his breath.

“I am so sorry. In LA he filed 23 complaints about me in a week. I was trying to beat the record and I wasn’t even thinking of the casualties. I can’t be _lieve_ he went all the way to the top just because you were doing your job. He feels like shit about it, he told me. And he’s too chickenshit to do it himself, so I’m apologizing for him: I’m so sorry. Hermann was a dick. But also because I was a dick. We’ll… stop acting like children now. At least in your direction. I mean, we won’t bother you with it anymore.”

“I should write you up for what you just admitted to."

“Please don’t.” Geiszler said quickly, eyes wide. “Please. We’re not bothering anyone else. It’s only the two of us left.”

It was true. The last of Geiszler’s team had packed up and left the week before Manny had arrived. He couldn’t imagine how isolating and frantic it must be to work in such an empty space, with so little help. For the first time, Manny was glad he worked in admin. “Then why are you provoking him?”

At that, Geiszler smiled, and the dark circles under his eyes, and the sag of his shoulders became impossible to ignore, “because he’s terrible and I just have to knock him down a peg, you know?”

Oh. He was lying. Manny gave a curt nod, and his skepticism must have shown on his face.

“The silent treatment is worse than him being mad at me!” Geiszler elaborated. “It makes me crazy. I can’t just let him quietly hate me for no reason you know?”

It was odd that someone who worked in the same room as the man could miss something so obvious. Too close to the trees for the forest, Manny thought. “I think he actually-” He stopped himself. It would be inappropriate to elaborate.

But it was too late. Newt had already latched onto the aborted sentence and turned eager eyes his way. “Actually what?”

“What?”

“You started to say something. You said ‘I think he actually.’ _What_ does he actually?”

Trapped, Manny cast about for something innocuous, and settled for: “I don’t think he hates you.”

Newt narrowed his eyes as though trying to decipher a hidden code in the words. When there wasn’t one he gave a stiff smile to hide his disappointment. “Yeah well. He sure likes to act like it.”

Manny wanted to shout: ‘He’s in love with you, you oblivious dumbass!’ But he would never, ever, _ever_ overstep boundaries like that. Instead he said, “Dr. Geiszler, I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t ask: Do you feel like you’re being harassed.”

Geiszler laughed outright at that. “No! No. This is just how we work. And it works. It’s better than the alternative.”

Manny shook his head, not understanding. Geiszler elaborated: 

“It’s better than nothing.”

After that, Manny didn’t get any more complaints from Dr. Gottlieb, or another visit from Dr. Geiszler. Though he did keep a curious eye on them and an ear open - waiting to hear that they’d gotten back together. And he did hear. Apparently they got together and split up so often in those last three years of the war that even the most eager gossip-mongers couldn’t keep up. Last he heard, in the days before the breach closed, they were back on to hating each other.

He was there in command when the breach closed. He saw Geiszler and Gottlieb from afar, the two of them standing close, with no discomfort, shouting into the microphone, matching movements, and holding each other by the shoulder like an anchor. Manny held his breath when Mori surfaced and Beckett didn’t. He held onto a chair - weak with relief - when Beckett spoke into Mori’s radio, and noted distantly that the scientists were hugging now.

And in the midst of cheering because both of the last two heroes of the war had lived,  Manny glimpsed the two scientists escape into a corner. He saw Dr. Gottlieb touch Dr. Geiszler’s bloodied face like it was a rare and fragile thing. And though Manny was almost full to bursting for the sheer joyous revelation that the aliens were gone for good, and humanity would survive into its next great trial, he had just enough brainspace left to spare a thought for the two geniuses:

Fucking finally.


End file.
